


Deal

by RickishMorty



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Drugs, Gangsters, M/M, Miami Morty, Miami Rick, alcohool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RickishMorty/pseuds/RickishMorty
Summary: Miami Rick is the drug lord of the Citadel underworld.The moment he meets Miami Morty, the boy offers him a deal. Rick makes a counter-proposal that the boy won't be able to refuse.Just my version of how the two met and what happened next.A spin off of the long fic "Do you feel it?".
Relationships: Miami Morty/Miami Rick (Pocket Mortys)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

The Creepy Morty was definitely a busy place. The cubes were always occupied by the dolled up lap dancers, the lavish sofas full of temporary flirts, the private sitting rooms in the back were especially popular, as attested by the bellow of excited shouts that cut over the pounding music of the main area of the club.

The club interior, it’s workers, and it’s patrons were all illuminated by a stroboscopic sphere that made the place incredibly demodé, yet... gave it a certain charm that most would find hard to put into words. It was most certainly shabby, a little kitsch, but, at the heart, it held a sensuality hard to miss.

And of course it had Mortys.

To be more specific, The Creepy Morty he most housed some of the most uninhibited, and scandalously sexy Mortys of the entire Citadel, connoisseurs of Rick's most rough secrets and capable of satisfying their every fantasy, even the most unspeakable.

That evening, however, brought with it an entirely different kind of mess.

Four Ricks were vigorously overturning the tables and chairs of the club, being rude with the staff and causing a disturbance. One of them, Rick with a leather jacket was leant over the counter. The bartender Morty eyed him coldly, obviously aggravated by the chaos the intruder Rick’s were causing. The Morty dancers, who held more maturity about them than their age indicated, peered at them from a distance with their arms folded, they unconsciously huddled closer to each other in an attempt to feel less defenseless.

"We-we granted your request and gave you-let’s face it- waaa~aayyy more time than you-than you actually deserve… You-your payment is overdue".

"It becomes irrelevant when you ask for double."

" Oh-hooo ho! So now Morties _also_ know how to do _math_? A-and here I was-here I was thinking that that was our-that that was a Rick’s thing!” the Rick laughed maliciously.

"Th-then you should know that by now, you’ve been in here asking for the money s-so many times. There’s-ther-” Morty took a shuddering breath, “nothing remains." Morty furrowed his brow as he forced the words past his stutter.

Rick leaned against the counter with a slimy grin that made the Morty shiver with disgust.

"Ex-OUGH-actly,” Rick belched. “Didn't you notice, we’ve already done the math!"

The sound of glass smashing made Morty jump, but he didn’t retreat, he firmly held Rick’s gaze, who, with a soft smile, broke eye contact. Rick’s hungry leer raked across Morty’s body as if Rick were a starved lion, and Morty, a fresh piece of meat ready for the taking.

"There’re always… other ways… to repay your debt.” Rick snorted. “Too bad you thin-consider yourself to have an ass too golden to be touched.” He sneered.

Morty’s mouth twisted in disgust and Rick leaned over, chuckling darkly. The Rick was sniffing a little too often for it to be inconspicuous and Morty noticed that his pupils were blown wide, way more dilated than usual. Morty looked over Mafia Rick’s shoulder at the other Ricks who were trashing the club. The way they were moving and smashing the sofas was way too dynamic to be considered normal.

Extortion was one thing, but paying for it and being one of the drug dealing and selling points of the whole Citadel was something they could not help choosing. Not that the Mortys ever had a choice, after all.

Rick ran his tongue over his lower lip, peering at the Morty who remained barricaded behind the counter, as if defending his fort.

“Your face is so… innocent… unblemished… I find it very hard to believe that a Morty like you has never-has never been fucked”.

The Rick reached out, running a long finger under the shoulder strap of the bartender's black apron. Morty barely moved an inch, barely looked at that hand.

“Has never been ravished,” The Rick’s face contorted into a snear, almost as if he’d been personally offended. "You’re all whores here."

"So why don’t you go with someone who has more experience?".

There was movement in his peripheral vision, and Rick turned in time to spot a Morty, he donned one earring and unkempt hair. He confidently swayed over to sit on the counter next to Rick and offered a seductive smile. He deliberately placed himself between the imposing Rick and the bartender, who, startled, looked at him with big curious eyes.

The Morty crossed his legs; the movement immediately attracted Rick’s gaze to Morty’s thighs. He continued leering at this new Morty, looking him up and down in appreciation as he brought a hand up to rub at the stubble on his own cheek.

"How about if I finish paying off the debt, so you can leave satisfied knowing you’ve collected what you need to collect, and left with more money in your pocket than you came in with?" Morty raised an eyebrow, a pink tongue came out to wet his lips teasingly, before being replaced with an encouraging smile. He winked at the Rick who was torn between staring at where Morty’s tongue had been a second earlier, and his thighs.

He managed to pull himself together long enough to wipe the drool from his mouth and say, "Heh,why not…" the Rick ran a hand over Morty's thigh, before turning to the other Ricks, who had suddenly stopped: they looked at him as if he were a piece of meat. Someone was grinning, someone else was drooling, one was even touching the crotch of his pants in front of everyone with a grin. Morty's smile faded and he couldn't help it.

“How about you, guys? Do we want to see how many cocks he can take at the same time? ”.

Everyone had dangerously dilated eyes.

The bartender and the dancer held their breath, and the dancer stood up, moving backwards away from the Rick who reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. With great strenght, he pulled Morty towards him: "Wh-what is it? Did you think y-you-you only had to please only me, slut...? ".

The dancer put his hand on Rick's, trying to free himself with grunts of effort, but there was no way: his grip was as strong as steel and his own hand was so tiny compared to Rick’s. The barman put his hand behind himself, against an open drawer, feeling the gun he knew was there, under his fingertips.

Time stopped for a moment before a very strong vanilla scent invaded the room.

"Who the fuck trashed the sofas?!?".

Those who were present turned, dazed by the high-pitched voice of the Morty who had just entered the club. He, in return, was looking at the place, scandalized, with his nose curled.

His skin was tanned unlike that of the other Mortys, whether it was thanks to the solarium or endless days on the beach, was up for debate. His hair, on the other hand, was clearly dyed, in a bright blond that hinted at a brown regrowth. It was thick and long, held in place by a light blue band in the same color as his top, adorned with triangles, and yellow, fuchsia and turquoise circles.

Despite wearing a cheetah fur jacket, underneath he wore practically nothing. Only a navel piercing, always light blue, and extremely tight pink briefs Fuchsia slippers, and glasses of the same color, completed the Morty’s strange outfit. It seemed to have come directly from Earth's Jersey Shore.

"M-Miami..." said the dancer Morty, almost warning him to stay away. He was still being held tight by the Rick in front of him.

"Miami my ass!! What the hell is going on here?” Miami shouted, stepping forward among the crowd of Ricks, looking around with disappointment at the mess created by the gang. The Ricks, oddly enough, were thrilled.

"What is it, money isn’t enough for you assholes?" He said, raising his glasses like a headband and revealing the glittered cheeks that illuminated his angry gaze.

Leather Jacket Rick seemed taken aback and, arching his eyebrow while continuing to square him up, answered with a simple, "No."

Miami snorted, rolling his eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large sum of banknotes rolled up and tied with a fuchsia hair band. Licking a finger, he began to count them.

"Look. Here’s extra for you, and your fucking gorillas." Miami threw several hundred dollars on the counter, while the Rick released the dancer’s, now red and sore, wrist. Miami raised an immaculate eyebrow, casually walking behind the counter of the bar, as if nothing had just happened, to get something from the drawer.

“And I'll give you a little more if you take me to the piece of shit that sends you here every month to beat the check."

Rick narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. "D-do you kn-OUGH-w who you're talking about?"

Miami turned around, putting a cherry chupa chup in his mouth and sucking it: "Oh, _absolutely_. I know exactly who I'm talking about. "

A credit card, with the smiling face of Mr. Meeseeks decorating the front, tapped against a wooden table, tidying the fine white powder that had been haphazardly scattered on the surface into thin lines.

The table was besieged by empty and inverted cocktail and shot glasses, among dozens of yellow and pink straws, many of which had been chewed.

The music was deafening, and the lights were blinding enough to be considered borderline annoying. On the cubes, some Mortys danced around poles. There were those who adorned leather pants, those who wore classic Morty clothes, and those who wore absolutely nothing. Below them stood a crowd of Mortys and Ricks, who cheered them on with enthusiasm. The long, tapered fingers of the Ricks brushed their skin, tucking bills wherever they would fit. Bodyguards, strictly just Ricks, pushed away those who crossed the line.

The lines of white powder were snorted with a dollar bill from a Morty with a fuchsia shirt. The boy let himself fall back against the sofa, with a satisfied sigh. There were other Mortys beside him, some were smoking joints, some made toast, and most drank large quantities of alcohol that would usually be impossible for their age.

Surrounded by underage, drunk, minors with yellow T-shirts, sat a Rick. He was relaxing on the sofa with his arms outstretched to rest over the back cushions; he didn’t seem to pay any mind to the Mortys. He wore a black belt, tight over sky blue jeans, closer to white than blue. A pink jacket, that matched iconic glasses of the same color, was worn over a cyan shirt.

Since he wore glasses even in closed and dark places, it was not known what expression the Rick wore, but from the way he was chewing the toothpick in his mouth, he seemed terribly bored despite the chaos around him. The chaos and the Mortys.

Behind him stood three bodyguards, all of them Ricks. One particularly well trained Rick, larger and more imposing, stood out among the two other slimmer built Ricks.

The Rick with the glasses didn't even get upset when one of the Mortys next to him, who had decidedly larger than normal pupils, laid down with his head on his lap, and started rubbing a hand slightly under his belt, with a shrewd smile. The boy smelled his pants, closed his eyes, and continued to lavish attention on the Rick with his fingers. The Rick continued to look straight ahead, until something finally made him raise his eyebrow, and he stopped chewing the toothpick in his mouth.

The Rick with the leather jacket, one of his henchmen, had come to meet him; he had a strange, almost confused look about him. Rick took the toothpick out of his mouth: it had definitely caught his attention, but nothing else showed through his face. Meanwhile, the Morty continued to lie on his lap.

The henchman approached, giving a quick nod to the bodyguards behind him.

"Boss... I'm back from Creepy Morty."

Rick barely raised his eyebrow, as if to tell him to continue. Because if it was a poor update on how he had spent his evening, he didn't give a shit.

"Urgh… There was a complicat-"

"Let me go, you fucking gorilla!".

Leather Jacket Rick didn’t have time to turn around, because he was brutally shoved out of the way by Miami Morty, who stopped in his path as soon as he saw this new Rick with glasses. The two looked at each other for a moment, but that was enough for both of them to fix that moment in their heads. Without Miami knowing it, Rick looked at the boy from head to toe, his glasses obscuring his eyes from the kid. A second later, Miami Morty looked at the Morty crouching on Rick's package, with a hint of chuckle.

The bodyguards came forward, passing the sofa in an instant and the blonde looked at them contemptuously.

"Come on, fuckers! Bring it! I can take all three of your cocks at once, they’re so small!"

All those present turned around, displaced. The Morty draped over Rick, also stopped his devoted attention to the older man.

"What the fuck did you say?" Said the buff Rick.

“Uuuh, you’re sure compensating for something, aren’t you Mr. Muscle?". Miami snorted in amusement and crossed his arms over his chest.

The body builder clenched his fists, stopped only by Glasses Rick's very slight chuckle, which didn’t reach his lips.

"The puppy bites".

Miami didn’t reply, looking at him with a strange challenge in his eyes. His silence, however, aired a strange form of respect. Or fear.

Leather Jacket, who had terrorized The Creepy Morty earlier, stepped forward, trying to explain himself. "He had-he created comp-URGH-lications, but he also paid off the debts for the next-the next three months, sir."

The two continued to look at each other while Rick chewed his toothpick, concentrating.

"He said he wanted to talk to you." Rick grumbled.

"What an honor..." Glasses Rick commented, vaguely sarcastic.

"This place is yours, right?" Asked Miami.

Rick nodded softly, dangerously condescending.

“Then you know how to make a local business grow! Why the fuck do you wanna sink The Creepy? It has ten times the potential of this shithole!"

"Turn it down, fucking slut," Growled Leather Jacket Rick.

"Is that the nickname you give your mommy?" Miami mocked.

The Rick’s face contorted in anger and he raised his fist as if to strike Morty, but Glasses Rick stopped him with a snap of his fingers. He rougly took the Morty's head lying on his trousers, barely pulling his hair as he shoved him off. Then, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“Wh-wh-who are you, their marketing manager? Aggression as a commercial approach isn’t exactly the norm, y’know.”

“You’re _deliberately_ making it fail instead of exploiting its full potential. Do you have any idea how many horny Ricks come to satisfy their sick pedophilic impulses?”.

Glasses Rick remained impassive, while everyone tensed at the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"Obviously not that many, if you had to pay them."

“That's because you ask for too much money! You ask for, frankly, a ridiculous sum that only I'm able to pay. You’re the one losing from this. What game are you playing at?”

Rick raised a corner of his mouth, with a strange smile: “I never play, kid. But what game are you playing at? ”.

Miami looked at him for a moment, before crossing his arms and lifting his haughty face. "Let me be the one to manage it, and I'll make sure it earns ten times the amount it’s currently pulling in."

Two seconds of silence followed, before the bodyguards burst into laughter, the Mortys followed them in turn, high-pitched and irritating. Glasses Rick stood still, as did Miami, who continued to hold his gaze.

The moment their boss got up, everyone was silent, except for an overwhelmed Morty who was reprimanded with a slap to the head by the two others next to him.

Rick came over, taking the toothpick from his mouth and throwing it away with a flick of his wrist. Miami stood still, facing him, despite the goosebumps now raised on his arms.

"I have another idea instead..." Rick said, his voice low and hoarse.

Miami just frowned, shifting his weight slightly backwards, defensively. For the first time since he entered Rick’s club, his self confidence faltered. The infamous drug lord of the whole Citadel was one step away from him, his height imposing and dominant as he towered over the blond, who had no chance of looking him in the eye.

He couldn’t help but notice his scent hidden among the smoke that permeated the room.

"I won’t ask The Creepy Morty for more money anymore. But I will be using the club as my base of distribution".

Miami couldn’t help but widen his eyes, followed closely by the others present. He was bluffing! It was too risky! How had it come to this?

"And _you_ ,” the drug lord motioned to Miami, “will come to work for me."

Miami frowned, regaining his tough front on impulse. "What?!”

Rick grinned, bowing his head in amusement.

"You will perform here at the club, when and how I want... You’ll have your own dedicated show and you will work for no one else".

Miami blinked; Rick had caught him off guard. It was not a proposal he’d expected. In fact, he’d expected to be beaten to death.

"Why?" He asked simply.

Rick lowered his face, squaring him from head to toe again. Miami managed to steal a second long peek at Rick’s eyes and his own cheeks turned red.

“If you earn so much, there’s obvi-OURGH-usly a reason for it. But hey, you’re the-the marketing genius.” he grinned.

Miami looked at him uneasily, unable to bear not being able to look him in the eyes, of not knowing his expression. Was it another bluff?

"What if I say no?"

Rick was silent, his grin eerily fixed.

"Then I’ll raze that place to the fucking ground."

Wide eyed, Miami held his breath.

“I have-I’ve been considering building a parking lot in Mortytown for a-a long time. What’d ya say, think it’s the right strategy?"

Miami frowned. It wasn't a bluff. That guy was capable of anything.

He paused before asking another question: "Is… performing the only thing I’ll have to-to do?".

It was clear what that question meant, both came from a world where nothing was ambiguous, but all outrageously clear. Rick stopped grinning and Miami REALLY wanted to look him in the eyes, at least at that moment.

"It's none of my business who you fuck."

Incomprehensibly, Miami felt an annoyance at that lapidary phrase. However, he was immediately flooded with relief once Rick’s response properly sank in. He only had to dance. Just dance. Nothing else.

Miami bit his tongue secretly, before raising his hand in offer of a handshake. Rick looked at him, raising an eyebrow. Then he smiled, also raising his own hand.

Unexpectedly, Miami quickly withdrew his own hand.

Rick looked at him; lips stretched. _Wrong move._

"Take your glasses off," said the boy.

Rick frowned, without moving.

Miami narrowed his eyes, and very seriously said, "I want to look you in the eyes."

It was a Mexican standoff and everyone around could sense it. Rick could blow his lid at any moment, and Miami... well, he could just go back to throwing insults.

Everything froze for a few heartbeats and the pounding music seemed to quiet and then stop all together. The atmosphere crackled with the intensity of their deadlock.

Neither of them looked down, or backed off.

Rick pursed his lips, slowly raising one corner of his mouth. He raised his hand to lift his glasses to rest on top of his absurdly colored hair.

Finally, Miami could see them. His eyes.

They were gray, deep, and dangerous.

He parted his lips and for a second Miami Morty felt a fourteen year old boy.

Rick interrupted the moment, taking Miami’s small hand into his own large one, shaking it tightly. The deal was made.

**Thanks to bloodrunsred and iwachan4 for these fan art!! Go check their works <3**


	2. The Lollipop

His cheekiness had always driven him into a sea of trouble. Rarely it had  ever  benefited him. It  was more the blows or the cheats he had received for a snapping than the advantages.

The idea that his assface and the ambush made at the nightclub had given him a personal loft, a fixed monthly salary, double that of all the Creepy Morty. As well as a show dedicated solely to him and mountains of cocaine as an added bonus. Everything sounded more like a dream. 

Miami sucked hard on the straw of the Strawberry Capirinha that he’d gulped down. He crossed his legs, feeling his skin  tan in the sun,  stretched on the only deckchair of that private beach. It was one of the few within the Citadel, and obviously it had been recreated by the Ricks.  The Citadel  offered very little real nature.

That didn't stop him from taking care of his perfectly golden tan, though. Miami vegetated on that deck chair at least two or three  times a day, chugging one or two cocktails in the sun. If the sun too was recreated, it was not clear. Not that Miami would scorn a solarium.

The boy smiled, chewing his straw.

He knew. He knew that sooner or later his beautiful ass would  make it.

He had taken  killed two birds with one stone: save the Creepy and become the fucking queen of the most famous club in the Citadel.

The club  to which was owned by one of the most powerful Rick ’s , a drug boss par excellence.

He had chosen him as the star attraction of his 80s night club.

Well, how can you blame him?

His shows were sold out every fucking night and the audience was heterogeneous. Not only Ricks, but Mortys too: if the first ones drooled behind him, the second ones took him as a point of reference, idolizing him. The proof that even a Morty could  make it.

But he wasn't just any Morty.

Miami looked at his freshly redone nails, thoughtfully.

Maybe  this Rick understood that. Otherwise why would he have given him so much  special treatment ?

_ Because your ass makes a lot of money. _

Yes, of course. But his look that Miami had managed to meet for a moment had been very particular.

As if he really saw him.

Miami jumped up from the deckchair, annoyed by those thoughts.

He walked quickly over the sand, headed for the loft which was ten times larger than his old room.

The annoyance that made him go faster was mainly related to the fact that those two weeks in which he had started to work, he had never seen Rick, not even in passing.

The fact that it bothered him like that... bothered him  immensely.

Although he was a professional, the orders had been clear: no shot of coke before going on stage and at least two hours before he had to rehearse, repeating the whole performance.

Orders from above: Rick was a perfectionist and didn’t admit that there were errors in the shows he offered. Especially for how much he made them pay.

Miami couldn't help but snort as it twirled around the pole. REHEARSAL. Nobody had ever fucking asked him to do them. He improvised, got caught by the moment, didn’t need to "study"  or “practice.” It was something innate, which came out spontaneously.

Asking for  a rehearsal was a fucking offense.

And above all, he was bored.

He leaned against the pole, stopped twirling, retrieving a cherry chupa chups from his pocket, and started to unwrap it. One of the bodyguards glared at him, intimating him to return to work. Miami slipped the lollipop into his mouth, dedicating him a middle finger with his eyelids halfway up. The Rick gritted his teeth helplessly: no one could touch the star.

Miami grinned before looking straight ahead again. He nearly fell off the lollipop on the ground. (I don't understand this sentence, he almost dropped his lollipop?) 

In front of the stage, at the bottom, there was Rick, surrounded by the same henchmen  as before. Whom all seemed to be updating him with something. Obviously, Rick had  on his  pair inseparable glasses that prevented any visual confrontation. And his  signature toothpick between his teeth, of course.

Miami couldn’t help  but look at him, wondering if at least out of the corner of his eye he had seen him. Even with glasses, he seemed almost as bored as he was.

Suddenly,  the sun glasses Rick turned to the stage: from that perspective there could be no doubt that he had seen him. Miami stared at Rick, feeling for once uncertain about what to do: smile? Play it cool? Say hi? Ignore him? Dance? Wink at him?

Uncertainty caught him for a very rare time,  making him unprepared. He was never uncomfortable, perfectly aware of what he knew and could do. No Rick put him in awe: he was the one who dictated the law when he was with them.

The moment Miami opted to give him an ironic and sarcastic kiss, Rick turned around again, without the slightest expression changing his face.

He simply didn't give a shit about him.

The blonde boy opened his mouth wide, taking the lollipop in his hand. He narrowed his eyes, angry: fuck, nobody ignored him!

He heard the bodyguard on stage chuckle, enjoying the scene: he must have understood what had happened.

Miami looked at him firmly, recovering his cheekiness and the chupa chups inside his mouth.

He snapped at the sound check’s Morty, immediately restarting the music of his performance.

These assholes had no idea who they were dealing with.

80s music, dance and mischievous, filled the venue, also alerting Rick's henchmen. But Rick didn’t turn around.

Miami dropped the fur to the ground, grabbing the pole in the center of the stage with both hands. He swiveled around, showing himself in a series of figures perfectly in time with the music.

The play of lights, in shades of yellow and pink, caressed his shape, making the glitter shine under his eyes. Hanging upside down, with the pole tightly between his thighs, Miami glanced at the Ricks (and to THE Rick) at the back of the room, grinning satisfied: he had definitely attracted their attention.

Glasses Rick folded his arms, apparently annoyed towards his subordinates, but aware that it was impossible to deny Ricks such a show. Of course, this didn't make him less pissed.

The idea of having made him nervous, excited Miami beyond all limits.

The boy returned to the ground, giving them his back, or rather his ass. The R marked on his right buttock, was one of the erotic dreams of all the Ricks with whom he had spent the night. It was known that Ricks’ favorite position was the doggy style, but with Miami it was a real fetish: that R meant that any Rick could see himself in it, considering it a personal property and satisfying their sick ego.

What assholes.

Miami decided to unleash his strongpoint, the figure of the figures, the one for which he was known throughout the Citadel and beyond.

The Lollipop.

Miami grabbed the pole with both hands  and started to spin around, faster and faster. On the fourth lap, the boy raised his feet, bringing them slightly under his hands and continuing to spin on the pole. Fully stretched on the iron rod, with his arms and legs fully stretched, Miami stretched every muscle in his body to remain perfectly horizontal on the rod. The result was the symbol of why the move was called Lollipop: his round, soft ass looked like the ball on top of the chupa chups. His rigid body instead the white stick that held it.

Miami finished spinning right in the middle of the stage, again showing his ass to the Ricks at the bottom. The music stopped and the boy let go, landing on the floor. He turned suddenly with his face and his blond hair  that  revealed a satisfied smile.

The Ricks were all completely open-mouthed. The drool sparkled from almost all  of their mouths and there was no doubt that their pants had also undergone a violent swelling.

But it wasn't them he was watching.

There was just one who  he wanted to impress.

Glasses Rick was finally looking at him.

His mouth wasn't as wide as the other Ricks, but  Miami could have sworn that the toothpick he always held between his teeth was less tight than usual.

Suddenly,  the Ricks mouth folded into a kind of grin. Glasses Rick took the toothpick between his fingers before applauding. A slow applause, made up of only three claps, which rang in the silence of the still empty room. (wait, i thought there were people watching?) 

Now that Miami finally had his attention, he didn't know how to handle it. He felt his cheeks turn red and the blood  begin to  swell in his lower abdomen.

Maybe he wasn't so different from the other Ricks.

After  the rehearsal, all the Ricks were gone, in a procession of blue-gray hair leaving the hall. Miami no longer had any reason to stand there on stage spinning like a top.

Thankfully, there were also showers behind the bathrooms, clearly controlled by the bodyguards. The toilets were divided between customers and staff and generally at that time, before the opening, there was still no one.

Miami came out of one of the cubicles in the shower, drawing yet another lollipop from his pocket. They were a drug, and staying even five minutes without something in his mouth was intolerable. No wonder he  gave the best blowjobs in the city.

He pulled his blonde hair out of the pink bathrobe, with the white chupa chups stick  jutting from his lips. Looking to the ground, he returned to the anteroom of the toilet (changing room of the toilet), running his fingers through his hair.

With his gaze directed towards the floor, he encountered black moccasins.  Miami raised his eyes, meeting sky blue jeans and an unmistakable pink jacket. The man who wore it had hair of an absurd color, like all the other Ricks.

It was the Boss, (glasses Rick) who turned his back on him while washing his hands.

Miami stopped, with the lollipop pushing against his cheek. He felt flushed again. 

Oh, fuck.

The Rick with the glasses turned, meeting his gaze. Miami had to start wearing sunglasses, at least  so that they would have been on equal terms. Rick grinned, leaning back against the sink with his arms crossed.

"Nice color".

Miami frowned, before looking down and understanding what he was referring to: his bathrobe was the same color as Rick's jacket. The boy raised his face again, arrogant. What fucking egomaniac.

"You have to know how to wear it."

Instead of leaving, Miami stood in front of the mirror in the sink next to Rick's. He began to run his fingers through his wet hair, adjusting them and giving his reflection an arrogant look.

"D-do you like it h _ eeeurp _ -here, Morty?"

"Miami" he said, without even looking at him.

Rick raised an eyebrow.

"What?".

"My name is Miami. Not Morty."

Rick was silent for a moment, watching the boy pull a clutch bag full of make-up out of his robe pocket. He pulled out a blue nail polish  and started  to open it.

"Cute" said Rick, still with the same grin on his face.

Miami nearly smeared himself  with the blue liquid, taken aback by that comment. However, he stubbornly concentrated on giving himself yet another coat of polish.

"I guess your name is Rick, like everyone else" said Miami cheekily.

Rick pulled out a piece of paper, unwrapping it: it was a toothpick. Miami watched that action, unable to help but compare it to  his own obsession with lollipops. Basically, they did the same fucking thing.

Rick stuck it in his mouth, clamping it between his teeth.

“I won't mind- I wouldn't mind Miami."

The boy turned abruptly towards him, with wide eyes and an indignant, surprised expression. What?!

"W-what ?! N-no fucking way, that's MY name!”.

He immediately let go of the nail polish, turning completely towards Rick, who meanwhile drummed a finger on his chin, chewing on the toothpick.

"Miami Rick... Not bad... For a drug boss, it sounds c _ ooourp _ \- cool."

Miami Morty was displaced and clenched his fists, outraged at that affront. He couldn't copy his name!

"Hey, hey, no !! Y-You can't- "

Rick, nay, Miami Rick continued to smile, nodding and drumming his finger on his chin again, as he left the bathroom: "Really not bad...".

Miami followed him out, before being blocked by two bodyguards who blocked him in his attempt to reach Rick, who greeted him with a wave of the hand, with his back to him.

Fucking piece of shit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to FleebJuice5 for the help!  
> If you like the story so far please leave a comment <3


	3. Give and take

Miami sucked hard, his cheeks tightening with each movement of his mouth. It seemed he had to dry up that lollipop completely, which continued to suck mercilessly. He was nervous and hated being so; it almost seemed to him that he was less handsome, less shining. The glitter under his eyes were in fact more that day. It was necessary to balance his mood somehow.

The shows were a hit, he had more clothes than all the Kardashans put together, he had any kind of drugs available and the Creepy was safe. All those victories, however, took on a bitter aftertaste when Miami reflected and considered the fact that, if he won, Miami Rick also won.

Yes, bastard, that was what he called himself now.

The more money he made, the more the other one had. The more customers he attracted, the more Rick became powerful and influential. He even made him pass the desire to dance on the pole. And it takes a lot to do it.

Miami was in the back of the night club, at the entrance for "employees". He had always arrived early for those damned rehearsals. He had tried to skip them, but Ricks dressed as bodyguards hadpolitely escorted him to the club.

He sighed, leaning against the wall and looking at the chupa chup which was practically finished, reduced to a small ball of candy. He could have changed his name... it could be Candy Morty.

Miami shook his head: for fuck’s sake! That was his name, at best it was Miami Rick who had to change it!

Ricks... brilliant, but with the creativity of a shoe. They weren't even able to come up with a name. They only knew how to speak with codes, numbers and burps. Not Miami Rick, however: he didn't seem like a scientist. It was what really made him different from the others, although the Citadel had distorted the genius of every Ricks, forced in that overpopulation to do less and less of what they could really do.

Miami threw the plastic stick on the ground, before jerking when he heard a door snap open. He turned, seeing Miami Rick escorted by two other bodyguards who followed him. The three went down the steps, entering the square full of cars. Rick's was obviously unmistakable: a '59 Cadillac, clearly the exact same color as his jacket, pink.

Miami shook his head, licking the sugar from his lips. What a fucking self-centered exhibitionist. He could have been called Flamingo Rick instead of breaking his balls.

Miami escaped a laugh, which made the three turn towards him. The Boss obviously had his inevitable sunglasses and the toothpick resting between his lips. He raised an eyebrow, watching him.

"You have fun?".

Miami stretched, before going down the steps.

"Oh yes. All the money you give me, plus all the other " _corporate_ " benefits, fully satisfy me".

Miami grinned, fishing from the fur coat for another lollipop, starting to unwrap it. The bodyguards glared at him, their fingers quivering: each of them would have paid gold to be able to punch him. But they couldn't. He was the fucking star.

There was a moment of frost before Miami Rick grinned, taking the toothpick between his fingers, at the exact moment when Miami put the chupa chups in his mouth.

"Glad you're already set in here..." Miami Rick took a step, heading towards the boy, who frowned.

"... But now that you talk to me about benefits, i’m thinking that I could use them too...".

Miami stopped sucking the lollipop, looking at the Boss who had come right in front of him and who looked him up and down. What the fuck did he mean?

"Why don't you get in the car?"

Miami nearly choked on the chupa chups while holding a hint of cough. He was choking with his own saliva to that question. In the car?! What the fuck was he saying?

"What?".

Miami Rick grinned, lifting his sunglasses over his head and finally showing his eyes to the blond kid. That was perhaps the only thing that could silence Miami’s big mouth.

"I'll take you for a ride."

The movements in the boy's lower abdomen were an implicit response that Miami Rick couldn’t know. There was no way, however, that the dancer could give in to him.

"No-fucking-way, I have to go on stage."

The bodyguards came forward, threatening, but Rick stopped them with the slightest wave of his hand.

"I'm ready to take the risk of making less money tonight...".

Miami looked from the Boss to the bodyguards. Three Ricks and a Morty. He would have been outnumbered even if there had been another hundred Mortys with him. Nobody could beat a Rick. Just a Rick.

Miami raised his face, looking proudly at the Rick in front of him.

"Just because I always wanted to take a ride on a vintage car...".

If anyone wanted to see a double meaning, it was not clear if Miami was talking more about the car or Rick. The boy walked to the car, waddling more than necessary, followed by the looks of the three behind him.

Without even opening the door, Miami pulled himself up with his arms, sliding in the passenger's seat. He put his feet on the dashboard, putting one arm behind his head and pulling the chupa chups out of his mouth.

"Well?".

Miami Rick grinned, lowering his glasses again on his face and spitting the toothpick on the ground.

If someone had seen them from outside, dressed in that way and with those colors, aboard a car like that, they could also have mistaken them for a strange Hollywood couple. Very strange, without a doubt. Eccentric, spoiled, bored and arrogant. VIPs who didn't even try to be.

The wind rushed through Miami's hair, who had also almost finished that chupa chups. Rick kept his eyes on the road, holding the steering wheel with one hand. The other arm was leaned on the back of his seat with one elbow, giving the impression that he was almost lying in the driver's seat.

Miami was looking at him sideways. Where were they going? And why? Had he pushed his luck?

Being in that car was both disturbing and exciting. There was no feeling that won more. Indeed, the fear of not knowing the other's plan electrified him, as well as annoying him.

_I'll take you for a ride._

What did he mean...?

"How silent we are... Do you are mouthy only in front of others?".

Miami was shaken by his thoughts, turning to Rick who was looking at him with a smirk. He wrinkled his nose, angry.

"If my interlocutor doesn't inspire me...".

Miami Rick chuckled and the boy trembled his spine for a moment. They had never been so close since their first meeting and in any case not for so long. That closeness inspired him fear and this made Miami nervous: if there was something in which he was the same as Ricks, it was that he was not afraid of anyone.

"They say the bigger the car, the smaller the cock."

Miami Rick turned to the boy, as if to be sure he understood correctly. Miami pulled the perfectly clean stick out of his mouth, as if nothing had happened, throwing it out of the car.

Miami Rick raised an eyebrow, looking at his thighs for a moment, before returning to his face.

“You saw a lot of Rick's cocks. They are all the same".

Miami turned to him, with a defiant look, cursing those sunglasses.

"There is always the exception."

The two stared at each other for a long moment, in silence. They could have done anything: jump on each other, either to fight or to kiss, to punch or have sex.

Instead, they did nothing. Miami Rick chuckled again, looking straight ahead.

"True".

The fact that he always laughed, mocking him, drove Miami crazy. That was the difference between the two of them: Rick didn't fear him even a little! He was so sure of his superiority that he didn't even bother to get angry about his jokes. He decided to increase the dose; at least he would understand what they were doing.

"But we'll find out soon, won't we?"

Miami discarded another chupa chups, thus masking the tension of that question. Rick didn’t turn to him, taking a cigarette from his pocket and placing it in his mouth. He too had to miss the toothpick.

"What are you talking about, kid?"

Miami snorted, putting his feet back on the dashboard. Rick looked at them before lighting his cigarette.

"Oh, come on. As if I didn't know why you got me in the car. "

Rick sucked his cigarette before puffing out the smoke.

"And the reason would be?"

Miami barely leaned towards him, who instead didn't move an inch.

"I know you want to fuck me."

Again, silence. Then, suddenly, Rick's laughter.

Miami was blown away by the reaction, unable to help but think it was the first time he had heard him laugh like this. He went away, as if to defend himself, slightly offended.

“Yes, laugh, we both know it's like that. First you fuck my name and now my ass. "

Miami Rick continued to laugh in a low voice, with the cigarette between his lips. Meanwhile the boy slipped the lollipop into his mouth, irritated.

" Look at you, all high on yourself…”.

"I’m simply aware when i get the interest of one of you."

Miami crossed his arms, curling his lips and meeting his gaze again, masked by pink and blue lenses.

"One of _us_?".

Rick passed a second of silence before answering again.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I prefer those like _you_ more… _virgins_ ”.

Miami was speechless for a moment and the chupa chups nearly fell from his lips.

Virgins?! To him? And then what did he mean, that he was a slut?

_Oh, well…_

How the fuck was it possible he liked goody-goody Mortys? It was not credible! And above all... above all...

Why the fuck that bothered him so much!?

Miami lowered his legs, removing them from the dashboard and slamming them on the mat.

"Bullshit. Why the fuck am I here, then? "

Miami Rick turned to him with a smirk. He just lowered his glasses and the boy felt his legs tremendously soft.

“Do you know the trophy wives? Here... Today you serve me as entertainment, babe".

Miami thanked for being tanned and that Rick couldn't see his cheeks turn redder. T-trophy wife? What the fuck...?!

"What the fuck-".

Rick stopped him, with a finger pressed over his mouth.

"Shhh sh-sh-sh ...".

The man went to turn the wheel on the radio, putting on some snake jazz. A low, hoarse laugh sanctioned the end of the discussion.

"Deals are made to give and take... You should know better than anyone else".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing this fanfic about these two!  
> If you're enjoying too, please leave a comment :)  
> Which is your favourite chapter? I'm curious!


	4. Mi casa es tu casa

That was not a home. It was a three-story villa with a garden that was larger than all the Mortytown buildings put together. The swimming pool, or rather the swimming pools, were three: one at room temperature in the garden, one heated inside, and a large underground hydromassage in the wellness area, carved into the rock and equipped with a sauna, Turkish bath, emotional shower and solarium.

Swimming pools aside, in the villa there was a videogames room, a gym, a cinema room and a kitchen with a personal chef.

It was a paradise. A paradise created by drugs and threats, but still a paradise.

Miami was open-mouthed, walking behind the Boss looking around and drinking every single detail of that place with his eyes. That bastard didn't deserve it. Surely he wasn't even at home with all the business he had to do: that good thing was completely wasted.

Miami was so taken by looking at every single comfort of the villa, that he didn't notice Miami Rick, who was spying on him over his shoulder, with a satisfied smile.

"Pretty nice, uh...?"

Miami looked at him, frowning for a moment. Was he saying that about him?

The man grinned, turning to the boy, chewing on the toothpick.

"My place, I mean."

Miami thanked his tan again, which hid the faint blush on his cheeks. He shrugged, overcoming him and pretending indifference.

"Well... if you like kitsch".

The boy opened the sliding door that led into the living room, as if he were at home.

"After all, the same goes for the car..."

He turned to him, causing him mischievous: "The bigger the house..."

Miami Rick chuckled, before entering the lounge in turn. Miami thanked that he was no longer watching him, as he had started drooling towards a giant TV placed in front of a large white sofa. On the ground, there was a Just Dance station, of those that were found only in arcades. He'd only played it once, a long time ago, and swore it would be his favorite game forever.

What the fuck was Rick doing with that?! Surely he had never used it! Then at that age...

He hated him to death. It wasn't fair. If he thought that some of those things he had bought with the money that HE made him earn. He clenched his fists, before catching a lollipop from the fur coat, putting it in his mouth to relax.

"Well, now I might know why I'm here instead of moving this nice ass in your stupid club?"

Rick went into a living room next to the previous one (who was who had a lounge next to another lounge?!), sitting on another black leather sofa, crossing his legs on the crystal table. He fished a joint already turned from the ashtray next to him, lighting it and sucking deeply. Miami watched him, standing and sucking the lollipop, annoyed. Did he have to keep his sunglasses in there too, dammit?

Rick puffed the smoke, his arm over the sofa indicating the empty seat next to him: "Mi casa es tu casa".

Miami was struck by that phrase more than expected: he had always had a contrasting relationship with the term _home_. He changed apartments every two months more or less, to escape the stalkers (practically all Ricks) and if he thought about his childhood, home was the synonym of trap, prison, hell. He would have told a lie though if he had said he didn't want a nest in which to take refuge. A giant lie.

"I'm fine on my feet, thanks."

Miami stubbornly stood in front of the Boss, with the chupa chups popping loudly in his mouth. Rick chuckled in a low voice, before finally pulling on those stupid sunglasses. The boy's legs suddenly became soft: he had a different look from the other Ricks. He was more relaxed, less naughty or mocking; but still remained sexy. It was a mature look, with the indifference of a boy.

“A representative of the new government will come here tonight. I never cared a fucking shit about politics, but the Citadel is based on a thin thread and only a fictitious President can avoid breaking it. Ricks aren't immune to these psychological chains either, I guess. ”

Miami noticed how he had eliminated the Mortys from his speech. Absurd that they weren't even considered them when the President WAS a Morty.

"Fascinating..." Miami commented sarcastically, looking at the nail polish on the nails that was beginning to fade. He needed a manicure.

"Will I be asked about this lesson or can I continue to pretend to listen?"

Rick took another hit of the joint, looking at the boy with a smirk before offering it to him.

"You will be forced to listen all evening, you know... You will be present at the meeting".

Miami frowned, pursing his lips before pulling the joint away from his hands. Some ash fell on the white fur carpet. Well, better.

"I don't want to attend the meeting of the old age circle, thank you."

He took out the almost finished lollipop, throwing it into the ashtray. He looked at the joint, feeling like an idiot girl thinking that after all this was an indirect kiss. He took a hit: shit, that was a good weed.

"No? Didn't you say you wanted to move that nice ass? "

That provocation made by that grin made him shiver. That and Rick's taste on his lips, which smelled of vodka and smoke.

_No, Miami, don't be a slut as usual._

"What?"

“As you can see I'm a hospitable person. I just wanna give my guests a good show”.

Good show. Was that what he was for him?

Fuck, no. He was a spectacular show.

"You don't pay me for that", said Miami, who was beginning to feel lightheaded as he took another hit from the joint.

"How much do you want?"

The boy raised an eyebrow. It seemed like their first meeting: another deal. He made quick calculations, trying to understand how much he could ask him without pulling the rope too much.

"I was thinking twice as much as you would have taken tonight."

Miami coughed, choking on smoke. It was MUCH more than he was thinking of asking.

Rick chuckled seeing him cough and the boy tried to cover up, while tears came to his eyes for the annoyance of that hit ended badly.

"… May be fine".

Rick seemed almost disappointed: he had accepted immediately, without their usual push and pull.

"On one condition."

The Boss's eyes came back, as if they were not waiting for anything else.

“Throughout the day I will have every single thing of this house available. Pool, whirlpool, game room, drugs, everything. Without limits".

Miami passed the joint back, with a smirk.

"Mi casa es tu casa, no?"

Rick looked him intently in the eyes, as if weighing the idea, before taking the joint and putting it between his lips. Again Miami paused to think that the man was tasting his flavor now. There was even a little of his cherry lip gloss left on the filter.

"We have a deal".

The Boss got up, with the joint dangling between his lips, going to the other room. Miami followed, unwrapping another lollipop.

"I feel generous, and you will have it for tomorrow too."

The man started up the stairs, while the boy stopped for a moment, frowning.

"Tomorrow? Will there be another meeting? "

"Oh no, you will sleep here."

Miami stopped, widening his eyes and feeling an embarrassing movement in his lower abdomen. He automatically closed the fur coat, trying to hide what was being born.

The man turned, with a smirk that seemed almost sorry: "Unfortunately, the meeting will be around one in the morning and will last a long time... I would feel guilty about sending you home at that time."

Guilty. Him. Of course. Sure.

Miami put the lollipop in his mouth in an attempt to distract himself as he followed the man up the stairs. Fuck, he would have slept there. Where? With him? This was not part of the deal.

"I'll show you your room..."

Miami was almost disappointed with that phrase.

_You really are a whore._

"I hope it's decent..."

Rick chuckled, ticking him off again: he hated that he never gave in to any provocation.

"Nobody ever complained."

Miami twisted his mouth, at the thought of who knows how many more Mortys had passed through that house.

_Why do you care?_

Rick opened a room, letting Miami pass, who entered risking that the chupa chups fell from his lips. That room was the size of his whole new apartment. And it was the realm of sex.

Circular and swivel bed, mirrors attached to the ceiling, Jacuzzi in the room and private bathroom, mini bar, home automation lights in personalized colors and a beautiful balcony overlooking the swimming pool.

The boy stood motionless in the center of the room: any other place would have seemed like a shit-hole compared to that realm of luxury and comfort.

He almost asked him where he had to sign to stay there for life.

"Unfortunately the air conditioning is out of order, but fortunately we are in good weather ..."

Miami turned, looking at Rick leaning against the door jamb, looking at him with his usual grin. At that moment he thought that his room was worth nothing if he couldn't get fucked by him in every position and in every corner. Rick looked down and Miami followed him, cursing his slip which betrayed an erection beginning. As much as he was amazed he had forgotten to hug his fur coat.

"... but it seems you still like it."

Rick lowered his glasses again on his face, grabbing the door knob. Miami hoped with all his might that he would enter the room and lock them inside.

"Well, good relax, baby. We'll be late tonight... "

The man smiled at him again, with a wink that he could see despite the lenses. He closed the door, leaving Miami alone in the middle of the room, who sincerely hoped that that _late_ was referred to them and not to the meeting.

He inaugurated the bathtub, jerking himself inside and putting loud music on so as not to be heard.

Miami Rick was on the phone in the studio of the villa, busy talking to one of his contacts about the various shifts of drugs to be done that evening. Checks had gotten tighter with the new department and getting into Mortytown was starting to get more complicated. Not that Mortys were drug users like Ricks, but the Creepy was still one of the most profitable points of its dominance.

He attacked, lighting a cigarette and sucking through gritted teeth, walking thoughtfully around the room. That meeting worried him and he hated being worried. He wasn't looking for competition or trouble unlike the other Ricks. His wanted to be an iron control, but relaxed, without particular troubles. He sold, people paid and everyone was high and happy. Stop.

The man sighed, before going out to the balcony. He needed a breath of fresh air.

He lowered his sunglasses over his eyes, putting one hand in his pocket while he took the cigarette with the other. He looked down, looking at the pool as flat as a board. There was a difference, however, from the usual view he generally had from his room: one of the deckchairs was occupied. Above it, on his stomach and with headphones in his ears, there was a boy with blond hair and tanned skin. Rick concentrated on the only lighter area of his body: he didn't wear slip. His nice little ass was naked, exposed to the sun's rays and to his sight, while Miami's legs swayed to the rhythm of music.

The man took one last hit of the cigarette, greedy, before extinguishing it on the ashtray of the balcony.

He smiled, before the boy noticed him, turning to look at him from below. Miami raised his hand and with it his middle finger. Rick grinned badly before he picked up a small remote control which luckily had remained on the ledge of the balcony. He pressed a button, turning on the irrigation system and giggling in a low voice, watching Miami running from all sides to protect himself from splashes, insulting him out loud in every possible way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I had lost some inspiration for this story, but luckily thanks to the beautiful fan art of Dimension Tanuki and sleazylemon on Miamis I recovered, along with another couple of ideas related to Do you feel it (remember that Deal is a spin off!).  
> Leave a comment if you like the story <3 would help me a lot!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I thought of this story as a spin off of my main ff, Do you feel it?  
> In fact, the Creepy Morty's Mortys at the beginning are two OCs that will also appear in DYFI and will be very important in the story. Who had noticed the little Easter Egg? :p  
> I wanted to tell the origin of the Miami relationship and I started this story, I hope you like it and that you want to leave a comment.  
> Thanks to GhostyGooGirl that i really admired for her arts and who helped me with the translation of the story! Please check her beautiful works on twitter ( https://twitter.com/GhostyGoo_Girl ) and patreon ( https://www.patreon.com/ghostygoogirl )


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